


In Memoriam

by daemonium_ex_machina



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crowley-centric (Good Omens), Gen, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Other, graphic depictions of falling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-07-27 19:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20051503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daemonium_ex_machina/pseuds/daemonium_ex_machina
Summary: The memory of Fallen is a funny thing. No one remembers much of their time Before, or if they do, they do not speak much of it, at least not any more. Wouldn’t be right, demons going around reminiscing about Heaven and what they lost.Crowley categorizes his own memories in three different groups.The things he has forgotten that he wishes to remember.The things he will lie about remembering, or more accurately lie about not remembering.The thing he remembers that he wishes with every fiber of his being that he could forget.





	1. Things Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> Where am I going with this? I have a vague idea. It’s been a long time since I’ve really written anything and this is technically my first fanfic. Definitely the first I’m putting it out there. I’ve just have the three categories stuck in my find for, well three days, so I’m getting this out and hoping other people can enjoy it, even if it’s not coming out quite like I want it to.
> 
> I don’t have a beta reader and I tried not to reread this too many times for the simple fact that it would never get finished since I’m horribly critical of myself. Also getting the hang of the whole tagging thing. Will adjust the tags, and rating, as appropriate.

Crowley, if ever asked 1, would describe his memories of his time as an angel as follows.

It was like staring through the water of a particularly turbulent stream. General shapes could be identified--rocks here, a fish there--but the details were generally lost amongst the ripples of movement 2. In his case, the rocks were memories of actions, the fish, memories of the angels he shared them with.

What he remembers most clearly are stars.

He remembers creating stars with such clarity that he sometimes wonders if it's fake. Given the mess that was his memories, he wouldn't have put it past Her, but at the corner of those memories is the vague shapes of other angels that had been there creating stars with him, so it must be real. He remembers the warm feeling of happiness with each new galaxy he painted across the vast emptiness of space. The joy he felt when it caused such wonder and delight in those he showed them to.

Yet he can't remember _ who _ he showed it to. If it was one angel or many. He only remembers the emotions attached to the encounters. 3

A proper demon would happily forget their time from Before. They had lost their war, been cast out of Heaven. There was nothing left for them up there except for enemies to face when the final battle came around. Better off forgetting completely.

But Crowley had never been much of a proper demon. Late at night when he is alone with nothing but his thoughts and the half forgotten memories of Before, he desperately wishes he could remember who he shared the stars with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1He is. Once before the End of the World, by Aziraphale and some time after the End of the World, by Adam. Because of course, it didn’t End.
> 
> 2Truthfully, Aziraphale is the one who comes up with the analogy after Crowley has explained it in a much more round about way. To be fair, there had been a lot of alcohol in his system. That wouldn’t stop him from using it the next time he was asked.
> 
> 3Which isn’t to say he doesn’t remember the names or faces of angels he knows he has met, but that’s more like looking at a catalogue of ‘who’s who’ in his mind. He sees them, knows them, but doesn’t remember anything of his relationship with them, if they had anything of the sort.


	2. Things Lied About

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t want to post these too quickly, but I want them to set the general stage of things. The more I write, the better idea I at least have about how I want to structure things so. Yay? The chapters will (hopefully) get longer once the first 3 are done.

Crowley, if ever asked 1, would say that he does not remember what Falling felt like. This is a lie.

It is also the only lie he has ever told straight to the angel’s face.2

One night, some centuries or even possibly millennia ago, they had been fantastically drunk and the question had slipped from the angel’s lips, much like his wine glass had been trying to slip from his grip. Crowley had met his gaze very pointedly and told him, “No.” He had then, rather promptly sobered up and left, not bothering to consider if that would give away the fact that he had just _lied_.3

Crowley remembers Falling and will never tell Aziraphale what it was like, not if his own life depended on it. Because he knows the exact look that would cross Aziraphale’s face, even if he didn’t go into the details. It would flicker between horror, move swiftly to concern, then settle on sadness. 

There would be no pity, Aziraphale was too kind to offer him pity, but that would be preferred. Crowley hated it when the angel was sad, especially if he was the cause. And there would be no fixing it, because it would be a sorrow about an ache that was thousands of years old. A long passed consequence that could not be changed.

So there was no reason to tell him. No need to put him through that swell of emotions. 

Instead, Crowley lied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 He is. Once again by Aziraphale. Adam had nearly asked him, but had thought wiser of it.
> 
> 2 Lies via omission or non response do not count. 
> 
> 3It didn’t, if only because of the fact that Aziraphale was three sheets to the wind and had not actually realized what question he had asked and didn’t realize the Crowley had left until nearly 15 minutes had passed.


	3. Things We Wish to Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been driving me crazy since I started writing this whole thing and I don’t like it, but it needs to be done so I can MOVE ON.  
I’m pretty sure what sparked all of this was reading StarlightPhoenix’s [The First Sin (Was Asking Questions)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19353904/chapters/46045216). Stuff from the first chapter especially stuck with me, so yeah. There’s also a few more influences in here probably, but I’m terrible at keeping track of fic’s I’ve finished reading. :( If you think you recognize something, give me a shout out a link and I can add it. I believe one of them is a Reverse!Omens AU.

Crowley, if ever asked1, would never answer the question as to why he fell.2. 

It was something he wishes he did not remember.

Like other angels, he had learned about God’s plan to create humans. Like other angels, he had learned of his changing role in relation to humans. Like other angels, he had listened to the brightest one question it all and it had sparked questions in him as well.

But unlike other angels, he did not take a side. He did not fight in the War. He simply watched and hated every moment of it, up until the end when angels Fell.

And he had turned to The Almighty and asked.

_“Why must they suffer?”_

Neither God nor angel could have told you whether he’d meant it about humans or the Fallen. Neither God nor angel could have told you which was the one that caused him to Fall.

Whether it was one or the other, both or neither, in the end, it had just been a single question.3

He asked.

He Fell.

He wishes he didn’t remember.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 He is. Once. Not by Aziraphale or Adam, but by Lucifer himself, soon after it happened.
> 
> 2 This is a lie. He answered Lucifer. 
> 
> 3 The only one voiced at least. There had been a million more at the back of his mind and perhaps that was the true reason, but he would never know.
> 
> 4 There is a soul deep ache in remembering that it was something so small, when so much else had happened. That is what hurts the most.


	4. It’s Not the Fall That Kills You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started with a Fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Backwards and forwards in time we go. Should be fairly linear from here on? Maybe? **Warning**, mildly(?) graphic depictions of what this author thinks Falling would have felt like. I honestly can’t tell where this might rank in terms of disturbing, I’ve got a very messed up sense of standards when it comes to written work. If it’s something you are uncomfortable, skip through the section marked by *~*~*~*. Upped the rating to Mature as well.

A fact about Crowley’s Fall, which some demons remember, is that it did not happen during the War. Crowley, or the Angel-that-would-become-Crowley1, fell a while after and is generally considered the last angel to Fall.

This is important for two reasons.

The first is that his landing draws a bit of attention. A single meteor like object crashing into Hell amongst a relative sea of calm. But we’ll get back to that.

The second is that it meant he Fell alone.

There is some shared comfort in suffering with others. It’s not ideal when anyone has to suffer2, but suffering together is easier than suffering alone. When thousands of angels found themselves cast out from Heaven, they had the knowledge that their fellows were with them, plunging into the same unknown fate. Some were close enough to hold on to each other. Everyone was close enough to someone to hear their screams. It was terrifying, but they were together.

Crowley had only himself.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The feeling of Falling starts the same way any fall does: with a sharp feeling around the navel as everything underneath you gives way to emptiness. It is the feeling of your internal organs trying to rearrange themselves while still trapped inside your body. It is a feeling that humans, the odd beings that they are, have managed to replicate via different technological advancements they pursued for the sake of having _fun_3.

What comes after that is not something that humans have tried to replicate, though likely only for the reason that none of them have or ever would even know what it feels like.4 What comes next, is losing God’s Grace.

For an angel that has never known anything but God’s Grace, it is something like this. Imagine water, the hottest you can stand, at that temperature that turns your skin red and sore in seconds, that you must push yourself to even get yourself submerged into in the first place. Image then, instead of it being on your skin, it is in your veins, coursing through you, burning from the inside. There is no way to remove it from you, no chance to jerk back a limb or leave the heat behind. It is burning from the inside out.

Soon followed by burning from the outside in, because Falling shares more than just the initial feeling of falling. 

Time and Space at the Beginning were particular things. There was no Earth yet, not as we know it. No planets or atmospheres for stray celestial objects to burn up in. But there was Heaven and then there was Hell5 and there was something similar to Earth’s atmosphere between them. And Falling was something that happened quickly. Not in terms of time, but speed. Which caused friction. Which means it burns.

When you are doing a million light-year freestyle fall6 down from Heaven, you become a blazing (not so) Heavenly object, engulfed in a flame that may or may not be the precursor of Hellfire7.

For Crowley specifically, it went something like this. Searing heat wrapped around him, digging beyond the surface, reaching for his very core. It blackened everything it touched, burning away his angelic shape in chunks and flakes like scales, until he was nothing but the charred remnants of what he previously had been. It sank down the meet the burning ache he was already feeling from losing his Grace, but the two never combined, remaining distinct for the entirety of the Fall.

And Crowley continued to feel them for the entirety of the Fall.

You see, humans if they ever face the unfortunate circumstance of being burnt alive, will eventually stop feeling said pain, as their nerves become too damaged to send signals to the brain. Angels and angels-that-will-become-demons, are not human, even when they take on human shape8 or inhabit corporations tailor built to suit their needs. Their bodies are more ideas, ethereal shapes and energy contained within a singular consciousness. They have no nerve endings to be burnt off to stop telling them they are in pain. They simply feel.

He simply burned.

But no fall, no matter how terrible, lasts forever, even though it may feel like it9. It eventually comes to an end with its own particular resolutions. A short fall can shake the nerves, get the heart racing. A longer fall may break a bone or sprain a joint. Even longer and limbs may be shattered, bodies completely destroyed upon impact. Water is no more forgiving than solid ground, either.

The fall from Heaven to Hell is not short and angels do not have bones to break nor bodies to destroy. Bones may not have actually shattered, organs may not have actually pulled themselves free of where they were supposed to be, and everything inside and out may not actually turn to something closer to jello than an entity. That doesn’t mean it’s not what it feels like.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Though the pool of sulphurous liquid Crowley landed in was a scalding temperature, compared to what he had been through, it was a cold shock to the system. It was pure instinct that had him moving to get out, though he could not exactly say if he’s done it with actual limbs, sheer force of will, or something else entirely. He didn’t feel quite him shaped anymore, but everything hurt far too much to identify what had moved where.

What he did know was that once upon the hard, desolate ground of Hell, he looked up, straight into the eyes of the Morningstar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1Because no one remembers who they were let alone who he was. Well, one demon might, but he’s been particularly mute about the details.
> 
> 2The thought itself was one that made an angel fall, as we have seen.
> 
> 3Crowley, having a particularly slow decade for ideas to spread discord, had taken credit for these inventions. When the Head Office had questioned what was so demonic about an _amusement park_ ride, he convinced them to try it for themselves. He got a commendation for it and for theme parks in general.
> 
> 4Humans are, after all, very creative and enjoy testing the limits of what they’re capable of.
> 
> 5Before the Rebellion there was no such thing, there was no need for it.
> 
> 6Crowley will later call it a dive, but there had been no conscious thought or focus on a jump. It was and always would be a _fall_.
> 
> 7It is.
> 
> 8Considering they were taking that shape before humans it would be more accurate to say that humans had angelic shapes.
> 
> 9It most certainly felt like it.


	5. Better the Devil You Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not mean for this much time to pass before I posted another chapter, but it is what it is. Job hunting causes the days to blend together. Let’s finally get into story mode, shall we?
> 
> Side note: How many tabs do I have open about angel/demon lore? That’s for me to know and my browser to cry about. How much of it will I actually use? Eh...
> 
> Side side note: I can’t seem to balance my use of footnotes.

Lucifer stood out down in Hell just as much as he did up in Heaven. It was not his looks per say, though he had been called God’s most beautiful and beloved, but rather what could only be described as a magnetism about him. When he entered a space, you could not help but pay attention to him. He had a presence that demanded attention, a voice that compelled you to listen. Falling had not changed that.

Crowley1 quickly discovered that it also hurt to look directly act him. He could remember Lucifer as he was in Heaven2 and the image keeps flashing over his current form3 like a picture that had been superimposed over another, slightly off center and out of focus. Amongst all the pain coursing through his essence, he felt a new one growing behind his eyes. He turned his gaze down to Lucifer’s feet where the double image issue didn’t cause him as much grief.

“And who might you be?”

He looked back up, felt the pain start to build again, and dropped his gaze once more, focusing on answering the question. It should have been a simple answer. He just needed to say his name. But the place in his mind where that information should be was as burnt as the rest of him, blackened into nothing.

“I don’t...” The charred skin around his mouth cracked and flaked as he started to speak and he winced, groaning softly.

Lucifer cut him off before he tried again, another glance to his face telling Crowley that he was frowning. “Ah, foolish question I suppose, but one can hope…” He crouched down in front of the newly Fallen, hand reaching out to gently cup the side of his face.

A quiet hiss of a noise left Crowley, his eyes fluttering shut. The touch was cool, soothing, a refreshing contrast to everything else he was feeling at that moment. He leaned into the touch and heard the other chuckle above him. At some other time he might have been embarrassed4, but for now it felt far too nice for him to care.

“Come on now. This is no place to linger. We must join the others and I have many questions for you.”

Crowley visibly flinched at the mention of questions and Lucifer raised a brow, but said nothing more. He simply reached down and helped the other stand, or at least tried to. Crowley realized that he did in fact still have legs, but they did not want to cooperate in the slightest. Every shift of limb, every flex of muscle caused pain to course through him and his skin to flake off in charred chunks.

“I can’t…” he whined, clutching at the other, hands trembling with the effort. He heard the quiet ‘tch’ the other made at the back of his throat, but his voice was calm, gentle even when he spoke.

“It’s alright. I know it can be difficult immediately after.” He moved a hand to the back of Crowley’s neck and sent a gentle pulse of energy through him. “Use this… change your shape to something else. It will speed up the recovery.”

If asked, Crowley would not be able to explain the way changing like this had worked. Lucifer gave him the direction, order really, and he went with it. Maybe the knowledge of shaping himself remained from his time as an angel. Maybe Lucifer provided the instruction along with the energy necessary. Whatever it was, it felt as natural as breathing5.

The change was not instant, but it was effortless. He became less and yet more at the same time. The sharp pull of cracked skin gave way to a smoother, more consistent texture. Limbs pulled together until there was only one continuous stretch that merely ached instead of burning anew with every twitch. His vision shifted, colors warping, and scents became much richer. Soon he was only supported by Lucifer’s hand at the back of his neck, grip solid around his new shape, bulky and long as it was.

“How interesting,” the devil breathed, bringing his other hand up to run along the blood red pattern of his underbelly. He kept his arm outstretched and Crowley took the cue, moving to wrap around the offered appendage. There was too much of him to fit just there, but moving no longer cause him to shake with effort or reel back in pain. He wound himself around Lucifer’s upper torso and arms, settling with his head on his shoulder6. The last stretch of him was still hanging free, but he was not dragging on the ground and was out of his way.

“Thanksssss…” Crowley hissed, unable to control the sibilance of his words with the new shape of his mouth. He felt Lucifer’s hand come up under his chin running back and forth across the scales there.

“Yes, well I couldn’t just leave you out here to suffer… Come, there is much for us to discuss.” And off they went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1Technically the demon-who-will-become-Crawley-then-Crowley, but we’ll just call him Crowley. Unless we don’t.
> 
> 2Golden, ethereal, resplendent, _beautiful_.
> 
> 3Changed, darker, burnt, occult, still _beautiful_.
> 
> 4Looking back at the memory later on, he’ll be positively mortified.
> 
> 5Well, the theory of it for lesser beings. Neither angels nor demons are required to breathe, but they tend to make a habit of it later on and it really does become quite natural.
> 
> 6Looking back at _this_ memory much later on, he’ll nearly discorporate from embarrassment.


End file.
